


the sky was made of amethyst

by crystalesbian



Series: Violet Sky [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F, General Teenage and Young Adult Shenanigans, Internalized Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Underage Drinking, WARNINGS:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalesbian/pseuds/crystalesbian
Summary: Cheryl Blossom has been in love three times in her life. The first time was real. The second time was fantasy. She's still waiting to see how the third one turns out.orThe year is 1994 and former teenage runaway Cheryl Blossom is a groupie touring with Josie and the Pussycats, Toni Topaz is a bass player for an underground grunge band, and the only constant is the great expanse of sky stretched out before them.





	1. cherry cola and cinnamon whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> finished binge-watching season 2 of riverdale a couple weeks ago, so what am i supposed to do while i wait for it to come back? choni fic indulgents of course! these ladies have captured my heart like no other canon f/f relationship in recent history, and this general fic concept is something that has been around in my head long before riverdale even premiered, so this fic is very near and dear to my heart!

Cheryl Blossom wasn’t a girl who was easily shaken.

She’d ran away from home a month shy of her eighteenth birthday and started hitching rides with no concern for where she was going, so long as it was as far away from home as possible. One night she ended up tripping on jingle jangle at a concert with some girls who had picked her up in their van. That was the first time she saw the Pussycats live. And maybe it was just because she was high, but somehow everything about them was captivating. Their voices, their outfits, the way they moved. And Josie was the most beautiful of them all.

She’d seen Josie on TV before, but nothing could’ve prepared Cheryl for what she was like in person. She commanded a crowd in ways Cheryl, even with her Blossom blood, could only ever dream of doing. There was a reason they were Josie and the Pussycats— the other girls were talented and charismatic, but Josie was a star. She was powerful and gentle all at once, and when she smiled, Cheryl felt as if it were only for her. She could be speaking to a crowd of hundreds and Cheryl would close her eyes and imagine that the two of them were alone in a dark room, Josie’s full attention on her. Josie touched people. She made you feel special, like you could do the things you always wanted to do but were too afraid to.

Cheryl Blossom wasn’t a girl who was easily shaken, but Josie shook her. She brought out the feelings that Cheryl hadn’t dared to feel since the day she left home, and for the first time in a long time, Cheryl was more than some homeless teenage runaway searching for something vague and just out-of-reach. She was a bombshell.

She started following Josie and the Pussycats everywhere they went. At first she was still hitching rides across the country but eventually she graduated to sleeping in hotel rooms with roadies and riding on their bus. By the time she was 20, she’d worked her way into the Pussycats’ inner circle. She wasn’t a groupie. Well, technically she was, but she was more than that. She was a confidante. She was Josie’s friend. She ranked just below Josie’s fellow Pussycats, but still above all the roadies and the various opening acts that came and went.

Cheryl had been in love before, but not like this. At first, falling in love with Josie was like falling in love with someone she’d conjured up in a dream. She was perfect and untouchable and so, so beautiful. The first time Cheryl had met Josie McCoy in person, she couldn’t speak lest her words taint the sanctity of the moment. Cheryl had snuck backstage with a few other girls and Josie had greeted her with a smile and a hug, telling her, “It’s always an honor to meet fans of my work.” She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and sweat.

Staying in love with Josie, though, was terrifying. Cheryl had half expected the illusion of Josie’s perfection to shatter once she was close enough to touch her, but it hadn’t. Josie was still radiant, only now she was real. She was this magnificently and frighteningly real person who Cheryl could touch, but also couldn't. There was always the nagging reminder at the back of Cheryl’s mind that she could never touch Josie the way she wanted to, no matter how close they became. And they were closer than ever. And Cheryl was paralyzed by the absolute certainty that her greatest love was something she could never act on. She didn’t think she could love anyone as purely and as tragically as she loved Josie, the girl she could never love properly, the way she wanted to.

Something about Cheryl that she would never admit though, was that sometimes, more often than not, she was wrong.

 

-

 

The bar is dark and hazy, and Cheryl doesn’t know why she’s here. Archie was the one who wanted to go to this place, for reasons Cheryl can’t fathom. It’s seedy and musty and the only thing they seem to have to offer in the form of entertainment is a small stage where the band looks to be more concerned with bickering amongst themselves than playing actual music.

“Andrews, what the hell is this place?” asks Reggie, a roadie who’d tagged along with them. “If we’re here for booze, I have an ID, man. Hanging out at some dive that doesn’t card is amateur high school bull.”

“We’re not here for booze,” Archie says, scanning the building. “I know a guy who hangs out here sometimes.”

Reggie has some boneheaded reply to that, but Cheryl doesn’t hear it. She’s stopped paying attention to them and fixed her eyes on the girl on the stage who’s stepped up to the microphone.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” the girl asks, and gets a small murmur or reply from the bar patrons seated near the stage. The girl is holding a bass guitar and dressed in a horrid mish-mash of flannel and distressed denim. Her hair is streaked hot pink and partially tied up in two half-pigtails. “We’re the Serpents, and, uh, our usual singer is running late, so we’re gonna go ahead and start the show for you guys.” She gets a small ‘whoo’ from the people seated at the table closest to the stage.

Her presence is less than commanding, but Cheryl can’t stop looking at her. There’s a subtlety to her that Cheryl can’t quite place. She’s...intriguing, in a quiet, not-obvious way. Maybe that’s just the way bass players are, or at least should be: quietly captivating.

The music starts and the bass player starts singing.

“ _And the sky was made of amethyst  
_ _And all the stars were just like little fish  
_ _You should learn when to go  
_ _You should learn how to say no.”_  

Her voice reminds Cheryl of honey— rich and sweet, almost too much so. It sounds odd belting out the rage-filled lyrics along to the loud distorted music that was almost growling behind her.

“ _Go on, take everything, take everything  
_ _I want you to!  
_ _Go on, take everything, take everything  
_ _I want you to!_  

_“And the sky was all violets  
_ _I wanna give the violent more violets.”_

She’s beautiful, Cheryl realizes, and once she does she wonders how she didn’t realize it before. She’s pretty in all the conventional ways— symmetrical face, full lips, alluring brown eyes, but she’s also striking in a way that’s fully unconventional. It’s something about the way she holds herself that’s incomprehensible to Cheryl.

The song ends and another one starts. Cheryl doesn’t recognize this one— it could be an original or it could just be a cover of another underground punk band that Cheryl doesn’t listen to. The only reason she’d recognized the previous song was because— well, one of Cheryl’s old high school friends had been obsessed with Hole and Cheryl had been discreetly keeping up with the band ever since.

When the second song ends, the bass player says, “Alright, we’re gonna take a short break, and we’ll hopefully return when our lead singer decides to show up.” Then she and the drummer disappear into a back room, which bothers Cheryl for some reason. They’re probably together, she and the drummer. Which is fine. Cheryl doesn’t even know this girl, why should she care who she dates?

The lead guitarist, however, stays in the front part of the bar, where Cheryl and the rest of them are. “Let’s introduce ourselves, shall we?” Veronica says, and before Cheryl or anyone else can protest, Veronica is already heading over.

“Hello,” she says to the guitarist, “Am I to presume you’re the frontman of this little band?”

“Who’s asking?” he snaps back, and then, with slightly less vitriol, says, “The name’s Sweet Pea.”

“ _Enchanté_ ,” Veronica says, offering her hand out. Whether she expects him to shake it or bow down and kiss it is uncertain. “I’m Veronica Lodge, these are my friends, Archie, Cheryl, and Reggie. We’re—”

“Pussycat groupies,” Sweet Pea finishes for her. “Didn’t think this was your scene. Your feline overlords send you to scope out the competition?”

Veronica frowns. “ _Not_ groupies. Opening act, in fact, at least in Archie’s and my case. My friend is actually here looking for someone, do you happen to know—”

“Archie friggin' Andrews!” bellows a voice across the bar before Veronica can finish her sentence. The voice belongs to a boy with dark hair partially hidden by a beanie. He seems to cross the bar in two leaps, greeting Archie with a crushing hug.

“Jug!” Archie exclaims, face lighting up. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here!”

The boy pulls back from the hug, patting Archie on the back. “Never mind that, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“What’re you doing in town, I mean.”

“Right,” Archie laughs, a stupid grin plastered across his face. Archie always has a dumb puppy dog smile on, but it was bigger and wider and brighter than Cheryl has ever seen. If she cared more, she’d worry that his face would split in half. “Uh, I’m touring, actually. With Josie and the Pussycats. We’re in town for a festival this weekend.”

“Dude, that’s—”

“Sorry I’m late!” a voice interrupts. The owner of the voice is a blonde girl with her hair tied tightly in a ponytail. “I’m seriously so sorry, I just got held up by my mom and— Archie!”

The blonde reacts the same way the other guy did, rushes across the bar and practically jumps into Archie’s arms. “Betty!” Archie exclaims. “I didn’t expect you to be here!”

“Yeah, well, that feeling’s mutual. What are you doing in town?”

“He’s apparently touring,” says the guy. “Our Archie’s hit the big time.”

Cheryl clears her throat. “Hate to break up the touching reunion, but are you finally going to tell us why you dragged us here, Archie?”

“Right,” Archie laughs, unperturbed by Cheryl’s tone. “Sorry, let me introduce everyone. These are my friends, Betty and Jughead. We’ve known each other for practically— God, how long has it even been?”

“Forever,” the blonde, Betty says, smiling from ear-to-ear. “Archie and I grew up next door to each other.”

“How adorable,” Veronica coos, resting her hands on Archie’s shoulders. “I love a good family reunion.”

“Uh, Betty, Jughead, this is my partner Veronica.”

“Partner as in the other half of our musical duo, and also his other half in life.” Veronica sticks out her hand. “I’m Archie’s girlfriend.”

Betty shakes Veronica’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine. Aren’t you going to introduce the others, Archiekins?”

“Yeah! Yeah, um, guys, this is Cheryl and Reggie. They travel with us.”

“I’m a roadie,” Reggie clarifies. “I just haul Josie’s shit around, I don’t actually get to sleep with the band. That duty falls to Cheryl, here.”

Cheryl shoots Reggie an icy cold glare. “ _How_ many times do I have to tell you that joke isn’t funny? Or do you just really not like having your testicles attached to your body?”

Reggie chuckles uncomfortably. “Always with the jokes, this girl.”

Cheryl steps forward, demanding the attention of their little circle. “Cheryl Bombshell, honorary Pussycat. Do hold your applause.”

Sweet Pea smirks. “So this one actually _is_ a groupie.”

“I have a name, you swine. I’m sure you heard me say it just moments ago, or are your ears as filthy as this little dive you hang out at?”

“Alright, hey, break it up,” says Jughead. “You should be getting back onstage anyway, Sweet Pea.”

“Yeah, I should too,” Betty says. “Stick around after the show though, you guys! Archie, we have so much catching up to do!”

The bass player and the drummer come out of the back room, and rejoin Betty and Sweet Pea onstage. They start again with some Sonic Youth song, and Betty’s voice is a lot different from the bass player’s. More fitting for the music, but not as pretty, in Cheryl’s opinion. It’s obvious that Betty’s a good singer, but she lacks the same enchantment the bass player has. Cheryl watches her perform and feels like she already knows everything she needs to know about Betty, and doesn’t care to know anymore.

Veronica gives a “whoo!” when Betty sings “ _Are you gonna liberate us girls from male, white, corporate oppression?_ ” which Cheryl finds annoying. The thing about Veronica is, like Cheryl, she needs to make a _spectacle_ of herself. She always makes herself seen, which Cheryl can respect, but that doesn’t make her any less grating. Veronica bugs Cheryl. Josie says it’s because they’re too much alike.

They play a few more songs. The bass player sings backup on a few of them. Cheryl doesn’t take her eyes off of her for the entire set.

After they wrap up, Betty goes straight to Archie while the other band members start packing up their equipment.

Betty, Archie, and Jughead are all laughing and talking and drinking, “making up for lost time,” they say. Apparently, Archie is from this dumpy little town, which he failed to mention before, either out of shame or out of pure airheadedness. Knowing Archie, it’s probably the latter. Jughead is the manager for their little band, and Betty is their newest member. She’d been brought in after their last singer quit on them suddenly.

The three of them talk like they’re in their own world. Veronica seems to be keeping up the best she can. Reggie has given up and is talking to a bartender. Cheryl feels out of place. No—worse than out of place. Invisible.

“Hey! Red!” a voice hollers across the bar. Cheryl turns around. It’s the bass player. “I saw you staring earlier.”

“Yeah, well,” Cheryl says, a coy smile tugging at her mouth, “You were really good.” Cheryl Blossom doesn’t use words like “really good.” She prefers words like “fabulous” or “exquisite;” words as fanciful and grand as she likes to think she is. But something about this bar, about being on this girl’s turf, makes her feel simple and stupid. 

“Thanks,” the bass player says, then looks behind Cheryl. “You with him?”

Cheryl glances behind her. The bass player is looking at Reggie. Cheryl snorts. “Reggie? Please. I should be insulted you asked.”

“Not your type?”

“You could put it that way. I don’t date roadies.”

The bass player smiles coyly. “Of course not. You date band members, right?”

That makes Cheryl freeze up. She feels exposed, like this girl she’s known for all of twenty minutes has caught her in the act of...something. Something that isn’t even so much an act as it is a feeling, a feeling she isn’t supposed to have.

The bass player must sense Cheryl’s tension, because she immediately changes the subject. “I’m Toni Topaz,” she says, sticking out her hand.

Cheryl reluctantly grins and shakes Toni’s hand. “I’m Cheryl.”

Toni quirks her eyebrow. “Just Cheryl?”

“Cheryl Bombshell, if you must.”

“Alright, Cheryl Bombshell. You want a drink?”

“Are you old enough to buy me one?” Cheryl asks.

Toni rolls her eyes. “They don’t give a shit about that here.” As if to demonstrate the bar’s lax policy, she hops over the counter and gets out a glass herself. “What’s your poison?”

Cheryl purses her lips. “Cherry cola and cinnamon whiskey.”

Toni snorts. “So, literal poison then?” she asks, reaching for a bottle of Fireball and a grabbing a can of wild cherry Pepsi from under the bar.

“It’s my signature drink,” she says, a little too defensively. What should she care if some small- town underage barfly with pink streaks in her hair doesn’t approve of her alcohol tastes? Cheryl has been drinking finer, more expensive whiskey since the day her brother Jason taught her how to pick the lock on their father’s liquor cabinet. She's allowed to drink cheap shit. She doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone.

“Of course.” Toni tops off the glass with a maraschino cherry and slides it toward Cheryl. “One Cheryl Bombshell for the eponymous woman herself. On the house.”

Cheryl picks up her glass, but doesn’t bring it to her lips. “Are you this gracious to all your fans?” she asks.

Toni winks. “Only the pretty ones.”

“Topaz!” shouts an older woman emerging from the back room. “What’ve I told you about hanging out behind the bar?”

Toni smiles innocently. “‘Long as you don’t touch the cash register?’”

“I was shooting closer to ‘Get your ass on the other side before someone reports us for letting a nineteen-year-old tend bar!’”

Toni gives a mock salute. “Aye aye, Birdie.”

Cheryl smiles around the rim of her glass as Toni hops back over the bar.

“So, you tour with Josie and the Pussycats? That’s gotta be cool. What’re they like?”

Cheryl raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to mock me for being a groupie?”

“Let me guess, that’s what Sweet Pea did?” Toni asks, and then sighs. “He’s full of himself. Thinks everyone who doesn’t listen exclusively to the Pixies or Dinosaur Jr. is below him. I love him, but he’s a pretentious douche sometimes.”

Before she can stop herself, Cheryl says, “I thought you were with the drummer.”

“Who, Fangs? Wait, did you think I meant— God no, I’m not with either of them, Sweet Pea or Fangs. They’re like, my brothers, practically. Besides, I’m not really that into guys these days anyway.”

Cheryl tries not to react to that, but judging by the look on Toni’s face, she doesn’t succeed. Toni’s studying Cheryl very hard. “Does that bother you?”

In lieu of giving an answer, Cheryl takes a long sip of her drink. “Does what bother me?” she finally asks, feigning cluelessness the best she can. Cheryl’s a good actor, and she knows she’s a good actor. She’s been playing pretend for as long as she can remember. But this girl doesn’t seem convinced.

Before Toni can say anything back, Reggie calls Cheryl’s name from the very front of the bar. “Yo, Cheryl! We’re about to dip!” he yells. “You coming, or are you gonna walk back to the hotel?”

Cheryl wrinkles her nose at Reggie, then turns back to Toni. “I’m in town all weekend,” she says.

Toni smiles like she’s achieved some kind of small victory. “I’ll be here. Or somewhere else. Ask about me.”

“Cheryl! That's a yes on walking back?”

“I’m coming, you ghoul!” she snaps back. She turns back and rests her hand on the countertop, dangerously close to Toni’s. “I’ll see you. Another day.”

Toni places her hand on top of Cheryl’s. “Another day. Promise.”

There’s an urge to rip her and out from under Toni’s, but Cheryl suppresses it. Toni’s gaze is so sweet and gentle that it scares Cheryl for some deep, irrational reason. Only a few people have ever looked at Cheryl like that. It’s not something she likes to remember.

There’s a honk from outside, and Reggie and the others are no longer standing at the door. Now Cheryl actually does rip her hand away from Toni’s, screeching, “I’m coming!” as loud as she can. When she gets outside, Reggie’s making lewd gestures at her from the driver’s seat of his dingy van. She flips him off, and hops in the back as Veronica holds open the door for her.

Cheryl can feel her whole body vibrating on the drive to the hotel. She’s vibrating so fast, that to the untrained eye, it wouldn’t look like she was moving at all. But she knows. She can feel it.

Cheryl Blossom is _not_ a girl who is easily shaken.


	2. wash away the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheryl has a proposal.

“Fangs, puff puff pass, dude.”

Fangs looks at Toni defensively, holding the joint just out of her reach. “No way. It’s my weed.”

“Yeah and _ I  _ rolled the joint for you. Give it.”

Sweet Pea is splayed across the couch with his guitar, absentmindedly strumming along to the Soundgarden CD playing on the jukebox. He lightly kicks Fangs in the shoulder. “Were you raised in a barn, man? Your mother teach you it’s okay to come over to someone else’s house to smoke, let someone else roll your joints, and then keep your shit all to yourself?”

“My mother taught me to say no to drugs.”

“Hence, why you’re smoking at my place instead of your own,” Sweet Pea says.

Toni takes a drag off the joint, then holds it out away from her. “Sweet Pea?”

Sweet Pea shakes his head. “Nah. That shit Fangs buys is all stems and seeds. I’ll pass.”

“Betty?”

Betty looks at the joint curiously, and reaches out slowly, like it’s a snake that’ll bite her if she makes any sudden movements. Toni laughs. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. We won’t be offended.”

“No, I just— I’ve never smoked before, so…”

“You just smoke it like a cigarette,” says Fangs, prompting Toni to roll her eyes.

“She’s obviously never smoked a cig before either, Fangs, or she’d know that.” Toni looks toward Betty. “You don’t have to smoke it, but if you’re going to, go ahead and do it before it burns down too much.”

“You’re already gonna reek when you get home, just from hanging out here,” Jughead tells her, “if Alice is what you’re worried about.”

Betty takes the joint and inhales, then immediately starts coughing like a TB patient. She holds out the joint to Jughead, who hands it back to Fangs. Sweet Pea laughs. “Damn, Jug, your step-sister really can’t handle her shit, can she?”

Jughead reaches over and lightly smacks Sweet Pea over his head, and Toni giggles. “Give her a break, Sweet Pea,” she says, giving Betty a reassuring smile. “Like we don’t all know about how you coughed so hard you puked the first time you stole your sister’s cigarettes.”

Sweet Pea scowls, and Toni reaches to take the joint back from Fangs, who gives it up with less resistance this time.

There’s a knock on the door of the trailer, and Toni passes the joint to Betty again. “I’ll get it,” she says, exhaling smoke through her nose as she does so.

“It’s probably Sabrina, begging us to let her back in,” says Sweet Pea.

It’s not Sabrina. When Toni opens the door, instead of blonde, she gets red; red hair, red lips, red dress. It’s Cheryl, looking smug and out of place at Sweet Pea’s doorstep in Sunnyside trailer park, holding a red umbrella. It’s raining out. It’s always raining.

“Cheryl Bombshell,” Toni says, leaning against the doorframe, “I wasn’t sure I’d actually see you again.

Cheryl smiles at her, and there’s a hint of sincerity in it, but it’s clouded by ambition. “I’m strictly here on business. May I come in?”

“You didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who waited for an invitation.” Toni laughs at her own joke before she says it out loud, because she’s been sitting in the smoke-filled trailer all day, and the weed Fangs buys is better than Sweet Pea gives him credit for. “Are you a vampire?”

Cheryl closes her umbrella and slides by Toni through the doorway and into the trailer. “Pardon the intrusion, but I didn’t feel like getting soaked to the bone and catching pneumonia. I stopped by that charming, dingy little bar this morning— The Whyte Wyrm, was it? Someone told me I’d find you all here. Glad to see all the necessary parties are in attendance.”

“Uh, hello?” Sweet Pea says. “Thanks for just inviting yourself into my trailer without so much as an introduction.”

“You’re very welcome,” Cheryl says smugly, because this girl either has balls of steel, or an ego so big she can’t detect Sweet Pea’s obvious sarcasm. Either way, Toni’s kind of into it. “I need no introduction. My presence speaks for itself. I trust you’re all aware of my band?”

“I’m sorry,  _ your _ band?” Jughead asks incredulously.

“Didn’t realize they changed their name to ‘prissy redhead who barges into peoples’ houses and the Pussycats,’” Sweet Pea mutters.

“I’d hardly call this a house,” Cheryl sneers, and then immediately, her face softens, as if she wants to take the comment back. “No matter. I’m sure once you’ve heard my proposal, you’ll all be much more welcoming.”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Fangs asks dryly.

“I am  _ presenting you _ with a chance of a lifetime. My influence with the Pussycats is strong. And I don’t know if the buzz has hit your charming little trailer park yet, but for quite a while now we’ve been looking for an opening act.”

Jughead straightens up, furrowing his eyebrows. “Wait,  _ what _ ?” Next to him, Betty, who has been silent through this entire exchange, eyes focused intently on Cheryl, drops her jaw, and her eyes, red from smoke already, go wide as saucers. 

“I thought Archie and Veronica were your opening act,” Betty says.

“Josie and the Pussycats are an internationally recognized group that play to sold-out stadiums across the world. We usually have the decency to tour with at least two openers, and we recently had to let poor little Alexandra Cabot go due to insubordination as well as a tragic lack of talent. So I suppose you could say we have an opening for an opening.” Cheryl grins at her own choice of words. “What do you say? Shall I set up an audition for tomorrow morning?”

“Wait a minute,” Sweet Pea says, sitting up on the couch. “This has gotta be a gag. Why the hell would some bubblegum pop girl group be interested in an amateur grunge band?”

Cheryl turns to him, smile sickeningly sweet and condescending. “Green bean, was it? First of all, the Pussycats are not ‘some bubblegum pop girl group’ as you so kindly put it. They have talent, soul, and star power coming out of their ears. They are a powerhouse. A movement. And most importantly for this case, a brand. And like any brand helmed by someone with half a brain, they’re always looking to appeal to new audiences. But to answer your question perfectly straight, they’re interested in you because of  _ me _ . Because  _ I _ saw something in you, and Josie McCoy trusts me implicitly. So you may want to make the effort of being a little kinder, because just as I’m giving you this opportunity, I can take it away like  _ that _ .” She snaps her fingers. She then turns from Sweet Pea to look at Toni and digs a pen and a small notepad out of her purse. She scribbles something down and rips a slip of paper out of the pad and golds it out to Toni. “Here’s the number of the hotel I’m staying at. Room 217. I expect an answer by midnight at the latest.”

“No need,” Toni says, almost immediately. She looks at Jughead, and only Jughead, ignoring the stares of everyone else in the trailer. “Jug?” They’ve mastered this, the art of the silent conversation. Once the two of them agreed on something, the decision was made, regardless of input from Sweet Pea and Fangs. Sweet Pea was stubborn, sure, but Toni would never back down when she knew she was right, and everyone knew it. Jughead is their manager, the one who speaks for the group, but Toni is the smartest and most intuitive out of all of them. It’s her vote that matters the most, and Jughead knows it.

Jughead shrugs defensively at first, but Toni’s not backing down, and he knows what she’s sure of: they’d have to be stupid to turn down a chance like this. Even if Fangs and Sweet Pea and Betty are content to let their tiny, amatuer rock band stay a hobby out of an underlying fear of any real success, or god forbid getting out of this town someday, Toni isn’t. “Ambitious” wouldn’t be anyone’s first word to describe Toni Topaz, but that doesn’t make it an incorrect one. Personal ambition has never been Toni’s primary motivation, but she is a girl who dreams big and doesn’t stop at dreaming. Toni would like to think she knows what’s best for the world. Hell, she probably does.

Finally, Jughead folds in their staring contest, nodding, and sighing, “You’re right,” leaving Betty in particular confused. Fangs and Sweet Pea are used to their silent debates, communicated only through the raising of eyebrows and small, almost unnoticeable facial gestures.

Toni grins triumphantly, and turns back to Cheryl. “We won’t need to call. We’re saying yes. Right now.”

Cheryl raises her eyebrows in pleasant surprise. “Perfect! Tomorrow’s our last day in town. Be at the Whyte Wyrm, ready to perform, by seven A.M. And be packed up and ready to go beforehand. If Josie even does decide to recruit you, she won’t be waiting around for you to make your arrangements.” Cheryl slides the piece of paper with her number on it across the coffee table towards Toni again. “And feel free to call anyway. If you change your mind, or have any… questions.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Toni says with a smirk.

Cheryl grins and turns on her heel towards the exit. “Would you look at that?” she says when she opens the door. “It stopped raining.”

Toni watches Cheryl leave. As soon as the door shuts behind her, it’s like a spell is broken. No one says anything, but the vibe of the room immediately turns restless.

Fangs is the one to break the silence. “So if we’re really doing this,” he says, “that means we’ve gotta go ahead and get Betty her Serpent tattoo.”

-

“So you’re smoking now?” Jughead asks, rounding the corner to find Betty leaning against the outside wall of the Cooper house. Her cigarette isn’t even lit, she’s just holding it out, poised between her fingers.

Betty shrugs. “Don’t tell Mom.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Believe me, I won’t. Where did you even get those?” 

“Picked them up on the way home.” She looks down sheepishly at her feet. “To practice.”

“You know you don’t have to try so hard to impress those guys, right?” He asks, leaning against the brick wall next to her. “And Sweet Pea’s the only one who smokes cigarettes anyway.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t exactly have marijuana joints or whatever at the corner store.”

Jughead ducks his head down and snorts. “Seriously, Bets, you’re already in the band. They accepted you. You don’t have to try to act like a badass anymore.”

“Just because I’m in, doesn’t mean they accept me.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Including the Serpent tattoo.”

“Who said I didn’t want to get the tattoo?” Betty snaps back. “You guys all have them.”

“Look,” Jughead says, sighing and leaning his head back against the brick, “If you want the tattoo, fine. But get it for you. Not because you want their approval.”

She doesn’t say anything back. Instead, she puts the pack of cigarettes in her pocket and pulls out a lighter to light the one she’s holding. She brings it to her her lips and coughs as soon as she tries to inhale. “Uch!” she spits at the ground and flings the cig down, stomping it out under her foot. “That’s nasty.” Jughead thankfully has nothing to say to that.

“So, if we get it, what’s Alice going to say about you packing up and heading out on a national tour without warning?”

It’s Betty’s turn to snort in amusement. “I haven’t even told Mom I joined your band. I’ll probably just make something up.”

“Yeah, well, that seems like the mature thing to do.”

“Mature like living alone in your dad’s old trailer because you refuse to move in with him and his new wife?” She doesn’t even say it harshly, and she doesn’t need to. It’s just the truth.

Jughead keeps staring at the ground. “You know it’s nothing against you and Alice, right?” he asks. “I just value my independence. And I’m eighteen. I can live my life however I want.”

“Yeah, well,” Betty says. “So can I.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Betty asks, “Hey, does something seem familiar to you about that Cheryl girl?”

“Cheryl Bombshell?” he says the name with a sort of mocking amusement. “Not really. Why?”

“I don’t know. I could swear I’ve seen her face before. I noticed it at the bar the other night, but we were both so distracted by Archie and the show, I didn’t really pay much attention to her.”

“Maybe she just has one of those faces,” Jughead suggests, disinterested.

“No,” Betty says, “No, I’ve seen her before, I know it. When she came by today, I was sure of it. I recognize her from . . . somewhere.”

“Maybe from Pussycat merchandise? Or TV appearances? She seems pretty tight with them.”

“Maybe,” Betty says, but she’s not convinced.

“Elizabeth?” comes Alice Cooper’s voice from the front of the house, and Betty hides the cigarette on the ground under her shoe. “There you are,” she says, coming around the corner. “Oh, Jughead. Your dad didn’t tell me you were here.” She turns back to Betty. “Elizabeth, dear, dinner’s ready.”

“I’m having dinner at Kevin’s.”

“Oh.” Alice’s face falls a little, but she immediately covers it up with an insincere grin. The Kellers are a more than respectable family, and Kevin is possibly the only guy Betty could ever see her mom actually approving of her dating. The fact that she’s obviously not Kevin’s type doesn’t seem to matter to either of their parents. “Well, give Sheriff Keller my regards, then. Jughead, will you be joining us? We certainly have the extra place setting now,” she says, the bitterness in her voice barely hidden.

“You know I can’t turn down your meatloaf, Mrs. C.” Alice grins sincerely at that. She never bothers to correct him with “call me Alice” anymore. Probably because she secretly likes being reminded that this town still views her as part of the Cooper legacy, remarried or not.

“All right then! Go ahead and wash up, I’ll tell your father you’re joining us tonight. I’m sure FP will be pleased.” She turns to Betty. “And Betty, dear, you had better get going to the Kellers’ before it gets dark. I don’t want you out walking alone that late.”

-

The phone in Cheryl’s hotel room rings at 11:53 P.M.

“Hello?” she answers, crawling across the bed to reach the phone after she comes out of the bathroom in her satin nightie.

“Is this Cheryl?” comes the voice on the other end.

“Toni?” Cheryl asks, looking around the room secretively, even though she knows she’s alone. When she’s not spending the night in Josie’s room, sometimes she’ll share her hotel room with Midge, another groupie, though not anywhere near Cheryl’s status. But Midge and Moose are on again, so Midge is sleeping in his room and Cheryl is here by herself.

“You said our final answer had to be before midnight,” says Toni’s voice.

“I thought you’d already accepted back at the trailer.” Cheryl sits up on her knees, twirling the phone cord around her finger.

“We’re not backing out, don’t worry,” Toni says. “But you said to call if I needed anything. Figured I’d ring you before business hours ended.” Cheryl swears she can hear Toni’s smug, coy little half-smile through the phone. She can picture her so clearly, pink hair tied back, phone held to her ear, leaning against the wall of a trailer not too different from the one Cheryl had visited earlier today.

“So do you?”

“Hm?”

“Have any questions?” Cheryl finishes. “Or did you just call to chat?” She reclines across the bed, perching herself up with her elbow as she holds the phone to her ear with one hand and continues to twist the telephone cord around her fingers with the other.

Toni’s humming what Cheryl recognizes as the tune from the song that was playing when she’d come over earlier. There’s a stretch of silence. “Any ideas on what we should wear for the audition?”

“What’re you wearing right now?” Cheryl asks, and then realizes how that sounds and sits up. “I mean, I’m sure whatever you usually wear to your gigs is fine. Although—” she corrects herself, because she suddenly remembers what they all were wearing when she first saw them play, “I doubt it would hurt to step up your fashion game more than usual. Dress to impress. The Pussycats have impeccable style, after all, and I can’t see them recruiting a band of misfits who look like they just came from the soup kitchen.”

Toni laughs instead of taking offense. “Be ourselves, but don’t be. Got it. Anything else?”

“How do you mean?” Cheryl muses, resting her head back down on her pillow.

“Was there anything  _ you _ wanted to ask me? Or tell me. I’m all ears.”

Cheryl clenches her jaw. “Well, if you don’t have anymore questions, I doubt I can be of any service. Play like you did the other night, and I’m sure they’ll find you just as charming as I did.”

“Alright,” Toni says, and it sounds resigned. “Well. Thanks for the advice. Goodnight, Cheryl Bombshell.”

“Goodnight, Toni Topaz,” Cheryl says, softer than she means to. She waits for the click at the end of the line and then slams the phone down, panicked. She’s known Toni for less than 48 hours and she already feels too close for comfort. She feels like Toni can see right through her, and that terrifies Cheryl.

She needs to sleep, she knows that but now, because of Toni, she’s frustrated and jittery. Cheryl reaches over to her bedside table to turn off her lamp, and then she wraps her right hand in her bedsheet and slips it underneath the fabric of her panties. For some reason, touching herself through sheets that have no doubt been slept on by hundreds of strangers always feels less dirty than touching herself with her bare hands. She rocks her hips gently upward against her hand and thinks of pretty things. Dark, smooth skin and supple lips. Exposed shoulders and collarbones and cleavage and pink hair.  _ Pink hair. _ That’s a new one, and the image in her mind becomes sharper as she increases her speed. Through a smoky haze, she sees pink hair tucked back in a beanie and brown eyes and a coy smile and a short stature wrapped in plaid and denim and cheap black lace.

She gasps as she rocks her hips back and forth faster, the friction of skin meeting fabric meeting skin causing a whine to escape from the back of her throat. She can feel her wetness through the sheets. She untangles her hand from the bedsheets and allows herself the sensation of uncovered fingers gliding against her slick, pulsing lips. She circles her middle finger around her clit and moans, high-pitched and breathy. She can see Toni Topaz clearly now, the upturn of her mouth, the deep brown of her eyes. She bucks her hips forward and tries to imagine Toni as she herself is now, writhing at her hands, expression overcome by bliss, inching closer to climax.

She claps her free hand over her mouth as she comes, and yells out Toni’s name, muffled but ecstatic. She falls back onto the bed and rolls over, hopefully exhausted enough now to the point that she can rest. 

That night, Cheryl Blossom dreams of an angel with pink hair singing to her, “ _ Times are gone for honest men, and sometimes far too long for snakes. In my shoes, walking sleep, in my youth I pray to keep. Heaven send hell away. No one sings like you anymore. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your patience and kind comments! there's more to come soon, but in the meantime, feel free to visit me on tumblr to talk about this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> i live off feedback and validation, so feel free to drop me a line here or on [tumblr](http://emreys.tumblr.com/)


End file.
